


recessional

by hwarium



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Ambiguous Relationships, Gen, M/M, Writer Jeon Wonwoo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-20
Updated: 2020-10-20
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:09:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27021034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hwarium/pseuds/hwarium
Summary: Wonwoo can't write. Junhui haunts Wonwoo. These two events may be related.
Relationships: Jeon Wonwoo/Wen Jun Hui | Jun
Comments: 31
Kudos: 81
Collections: Challenge 3: Supernatural





	recessional

“Still up?”

“Oh,” Wonwoo jolted, “It’s you.”

A man was on his windowsill, perched like a cat and delicately avoiding the myriad of stationary and papers pushed to its edge. The open window streamed cool moonlight and soft wind into Wonwoo’s study. It was raining outside but the man was perfectly dry, chestnut hair ruffled like summer fields. If Wonwoo looked hard enough, he could make out the shimmer of his form, trace the line where his edges blurred.

“Good evening Junhui,” Wonwoo put down his pen and stretched out his shoulders, grimacing as he heard it crack.

Junhui smiled, “Your posture is as terrible as ever, don’t you ever sit up?”

“Speak for yourself,” Wonwoo murmured, then louder, “Do you come back just to annoy me?”

Junhui cocked his head, “If that was my final mission I would have passed a long time ago right?”

Wonwoo huffed softly, “You haven’t figured it out yet?”

“Nah.” With feline grace, Junhui leaped off the window, over Wonwoo’s desk, and landed silently by his side, “I know it has something to do with this house though, I keep coming back to it. There was something I was supposed to do when I was alive.”

“You only haunt my house?” Wonwoo said, “What a boring life.”

“— death,” Junhui corrected, then he grins, “My life could have been fascinating for all you know.”

“Perhaps,” Wonwoo snorted, picking up his manuscript again. The words don’t come to him. He could reread the past pages right up to the last line but then it was like a brick wall slammed down, blocking out any view of the future. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Junhui prowl around the room, examining the shelves, scuffing the carpet, slinking past the plants. Junhui was always like this, unable to sit still.

The radio cassette is playing music from the corner. Junhui crouched in front of it, peering through the plastic as if he could make out the words spinning inside.

“I know this song,” Junhui said. He hummed the next lines, music low in his throat. Wonwoo wants to record the sound of it, replay it in the day.

'You listen to Chinese ballads?” Junhui asked.

“I don’t like it when the house is too quiet,” Wonwoo explained. In the same breath, he added, “If I understand the lyrics I can’t concentrate.”

“Ah,” Junhui walked over, peering over Wonwoo’s shoulder, “Shouldn’t you be writing?”

Wonwoo heard him, but he could not feel the breath from his lips even though Junhui was so close to his ear. Wonwoo wondered, if he closed his eyes, would he be able to feel Junhui by his side at all.

“Can’t,” Wonwoo took off his glasses. It’s that time of the night when he could feel each muscle keeping his eyelids open. Dryness pressed at his eyes like a hand. Threads of thought swarmed in his head, too fuzzy to be untangled.

“Hey, go to sleep,” Junhui suggested, “It’s late.”

“Can’t,” Wonwoo repeats, “Can’t sleep.” He hasn’t been able to. When he goes to bed his mind whirrs even louder, words pricking him like needles, empty pages taunting him from his desk. He needed to work himself into exhaustion, until his body shuts down and his consciousness shutters to a stop.

“Are you stuck?” Junhui, watched him, always too meek to ask, always assuming what the other wanted, “Tell me what you’re writing about.”

“It’s …” A gust of wind blew in, making the pages tremble. Wonwoo tugged his sleeves over his hands, interlinking his fingers in the semblance of a prayer. “It’s about a dancer who loves to dance, but is afraid of the stage ... In the practice room he is perfect, but when he gets in front of others, everything freezes and his body moves without his mind.”

“What was he afraid of?”

“I don’t know,” the words stopped in the back of Wonwoo’s mouth, heavy on his tongue, “I’m trying to figure it out.”

“Does he overcome his fear? At the end?”

“I don’t know,” Wonwoo said again, “I want him to.”

“You’re the writer aren’t you?” Junhui sat on Wonwoo’s table, “You can choose the ending you want.”

“I suppose ... ” Wonwoo picked up his pen, “Will you keep me company?”

“Of course,” Junhui grinned, eyebrow raised, eyes moonlight-bright, “As long as you need.”

* * *

Wonwoo wakes up in the morning, warm sunlight nosing at his neck. He’s at his desk, his body crumpled over his notes, the window still open. He can feel the imprint of his sleeves on his cheek and the memory of last night fogging like a dream. Wonwoo looks around. Out of habit, he expected to see Junhui sprawled out on the couch, eyes half-open but fast asleep. Now the couch is empty. Junhui didn't need to sleep, and he would have left before the first hint of daybreak.

The room is filled with cassette tapes stacked on top of clothes on top of tables. There are empty boxes in the corner ready to be packed. Parcels are by the door, received, but left unwrapped. There’s an empty mug by the couch, never washed, tea long evaporated, leaving only a stain.

Wonwoo opens the desk drawer and takes out two, identical, gold rings. Smooth like a well-oiled habit, he slides one onto the middle finger on his left hand. The second, he slides onto his fourth finger.

He had found them in a velvet box, receipt still in the gift bag from the store. It was deep inside their wardrobe, at the very back of the underwear drawer like a secret waiting to be told. He had only found them after the funeral.

Wonwoo would have said yes.

**Author's Note:**

> Music: [dance with your ghost](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Qzc_aX8c8g4) — sasha sloane; [I want to dance in your pulse | 君の脈で踊りたかった](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FZzWh0U5z8U) — picon


End file.
